


Package Deal

by yeaka



Series: A Honeycomb Tree [12]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Collars, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Dystopia, Half-Mirrorverse, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Slavery, Spanking, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones gets two second-hand birthday presents that come slightly damaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hammer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammer/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Bones getting a damaged Jim/Spock request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

His stomach grumbles, but he ignores it. He’s in the middle of a thermal scan on Nurse M’Benga’s skin sample when his wall panel buzzes; a quick warning signal to let him know his security’s being bypassed. He doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s experimenting in his office—or anytime, really—so he usually turns off his communication unit. Unfortunately, a select few individuals on the Enterprise are more than capable of overriding that. 

A warning growl is on the tip of his tongue, but when the familiar drawl of his captain filters through the wall, Leonard snaps to attention. Captain Khan is the only person he won’t snap at for the override, or for any reason, really—he values his life too much. _“Dr. McCoy, am I to understand it’s your birthday today?”_

Caught off guard, Leonard blinks at the unit the sound came from. “Yes, sir.” Why that would matter to the captain, or even how the captain found out, is a much better question. It’s not like Leonard ever tells anyone. 

_“Well, in that case, I believe I owe you a present. You’ve been an exemplary officer and invaluable to me. I assume you’re in sickbay? I’ll have them sent down.”_

Leonard’s nearly red from the praise, however short—from Khan, that’s a shock, and not one easily earned. _Them_? With an almost nervous laugh, Leonard manages, “Captain, that’s hardly necessary—”

_“Relax, Bones. You’re not getting anything fancy. Just my handemedowns.”_

That’s still _something_. And it’s more than Leonard expected. And Khan doesn’t have anything not ‘fancy.’ On the contrary, he has all manner of excess, or at least, so Leonard hears—the many prizes and bribes from the many worlds that have been crushed under Khan’s boots are no secret to the Terran Empire, even if most of them never leave Khan’s quarters long enough to be seen by unworthy eyes. When the communicator clicks off without a word and before Leonard can say thank you properly, he stares at it for several extra seconds. 

Then he begins to wonder just what wonders he’ll be receiving: ancient Rigelian wine, gold Antares figurines, a Mrennenimian dinosaur? Whatever it is, if Khan had it, it’ll be worth a hefty fee, even second-hand. Maybe it’s twin Orion slave girls. Hell, he doesn’t even care. Leonard’s not one to turn away valuable gifts. 

The mutating skin sample is going to have to wait. He knows he won’t be able to concentrate worth shit with this on his mind. Besides, the only way he was able to drag himself out of bed this morning was knowing that no one else knew his birthday. Now he’s going to have to deal with a heap of congratulations if any of the others in sickbay heard, and Leonard McCoy is not the sort to sit back and take fuzzy hugs and warm wishes all day long. 

His stomach grumbles again. He figures he’ll go to the messhall while he waits for his presents to arrive. It’ll be less conspicuous that way. And now he’s half in the mood for cake. 

Locking his experiment into stasis, Leonard heads for the door.

* * *

No one says a word to him in the messhall or when he arrives back to sickbay; his secret must be safe. Though it might just be due to the warning glare at anyone who approaches. Full of mashed potatoes and bourbon, Leonard steps through the sliding door of his office. It clicks neatly shut behind him, while he stands in place, his ‘presents’ safely delivered and halting him in his tracks. 

Two men, black and blue all over, are sitting on the exam bed in the corner. Their legs are hanging over the side, but they’re turned to one another, their closest hands held and their faces pressed together, forehead to forehead. They’re nuzzling one another like sleeping kittens, communicating with soft hums and short mumbles, eyes half closed, but as soon as the door’s shut, the magic dies. Stiff as boards, they spring apart, straightening out like they were never touching at all. One of them has striking blue eyes that open wide, then fix into something between resignation and ferocity. The other looks dully past Leonard, head subtly inclined downwards. 

Slaves. Khan gave him _slaves_.

He knows that right away. Nothing else in the room is different; there aren’t any wrapped boxes on the counter or the floor or peaking out of drawers. Besides that, the two of them are completely naked, wearing only the dog-like collars of underlings, black and tight around their necks. The blue-eyed one is human, blond and more than handsome, and the other is a Vulcan, just as striking. The pair of them are both _gorgeous_ specimen, and the sight of their bare bodies goes too quickly to Leonard’s groin. 

He coughs conspicuously. He sucks in a short breath and tells himself to man the hell up; _he’s_ not a slave. No need to blush and get nervous. He’s a master again, and he’s one of the highest-ranking officers on this ship who’s usually better at acting like one. 

Slipping back to the usual gruffness, Leonard strolls towards them, stopping in front of the table to continue looking; there’s a lot to take in. His gaze lingers too long on both of their cocks. They’re impressive, though neither is as big as him, but then, he’d be shocked if they were; he knows he’s particularly well endowed. Both men are watching him cautiously. In the back of Leonard’s mind, he wonders why the hell Khan would want to give these two up; they’re beautiful. Even with all their bruises. They’re battered from head to foot, and Leonard has to wonder if they’re just both ridiculously disobedient, even though they’re both sitting quietly, seeming to wait for his instructions. If they were disobedient to Khan, they’d probably be dead. Maybe Khan just got bored with them—a terrifying thought. 

“What are your names?” Leonard asks suddenly, directing his question at the Vulcan for no reason in particular. The Vulcan looks up at him and says nothing. 

“Our real names, or what Khan called us, sir?” the blond asks. 

“ _Captain_ Khan,” Leonard snaps instantly. When he squints, he can see defiance in the blond’s face, though it softens somewhat at Leonard’s retort. He probably knows another man would’ve slapped him, and probably has—his cheek’s a nasty purplish colour. There’s dried blood on the corner of his lip and in one eyebrow. None of it mars his beauty; his bruises are obviously strategically placed. He looks down under Leonard’s lingering gaze, and Leonard slowly clarifies, “Your birth names.”

“I am Spock, sir. This is James Kirk,” the Vulcan says.

But the blond quickly corrects, “Jim. Jim Kirk.” When Leonard lifts an eyebrow, the blond—Jim—explains, “I prefer that. Master.” He must know that what he prefers doesn’t matter, but he says it anyway. He looks aside afterwards, awaiting judgment. 

‘James’ isn’t bad, but Leonard figures it’s just a name, and he’s gruff enough that Jim’s going to take plenty of lows from him without a constant struggle over that. In the interest of keeping a potential assistant easily placated, Leonard repeats, “Jim and Spock.” The names suit them. He almost asks what Khan called them, but then, he doesn’t need to know.

Leonard spends another few moments just looking at them—looking at _his_ new slaves. The bruises will have to go, of course, but then he can tell he’ll have fun with them. It’s been too long, and a starship doesn’t offer too many new opportunities, not when you’re a senior officer that doesn’t have the patience to get mixed up in underlings, anyway. He couldn’t afford a regular salary for a personal servant. Finally, he steps back and migrates to his desk, pulling a medical tricorder from the top drawer. Judging from the green blood trickling out of the Vulcan’s mouth and the darker gash above his left nipple, there’s some internal damage as well. Leonard will need to know what it is before he fixes anything. 

When he turns back to the medical table, tricorder in hand, he expects one to get off and one to lie down, but neither moves. He lifts an eyebrow and says, “Well?”

They look at one another. Jim looks back at him and asks, voice dead, “Where are your quarters, master?”

Nose wrinkling, Leonard asks, “What does that have to do with anything?” An impertinent one, this Jim. Leonard can already tell he’s going to have trouble, but he’s never met a man he couldn’t tame. Jim’s cheeks turn a faint pink, and he looks slightly sick, as though he expects to be more than hit. 

“So we may go to your quarters, master.” Spock’s hand shifts, but Jim’s covers it instantly, protectively, like holding him back. Spock remains still.

Though a part of him finds their grim resignation difficult to see, Leonard’s face twists into a scowl. Stupid. “Why would I send you to your quarters like that? You look like two punching bags!” For a split second, Jim’s eyes widen again: surprise. Like he didn’t expect to be healed at all. The thought makes Leonard a bit queasy, and he takes it out on them in attitude. The fact that Khan never brought either to his sickbay hasn’t escaped him. He nods towards his chair in the corner and tells Spock, “You, sit down over there. You, lie down. I’ll examine you separately.”

Spock slips instantly off the medical table and walks, stoically in control for someone with large bruises covering their legs, to the chair. He sits down and holds his hands in his lap, head submissively lowered. 

Jim noticeably resists watching Spock leave. Instead, he stares at Leonard while he lowers himself across the thin bed/table hybrid, head resting on the pillow-like bump near the end. 

Leonard heads straight over.

* * *

Jim Kirk is a work of art. The littering of said masterpiece with cuts and bruises should be a crime. Leonard’s already retired the tricorder, having found extensive damage: Jim’s had his fair share of beatings. Some symptoms are well over a month old, others as recent as this morning. If Leonard had to wager a guess, he’d say that Jim’s been beaten and patched up on an almost daily basis for several months. There’s something truly admirable about how little he flinches away from Leonard’s touch, and it’s almost, _almost_ enough for Leonard to forgo invasive treatments. 

Maybe if he was a better man, he’d do this quick, efficient, and stop, but he isn’t. He’s a man that’s made it up through the sordid ranks of the Empire, and nice people don’t manage that. Not to mention how long it’s been since he’s had anyone, let alone someone like _this._ So he takes his liberties. He runs the dermal regenerator over the damaged side of Jim’s face with one hand while the other cups Jim’s cheek, thumb gently tracing his plush, pink lips. They’re a striking shade, just like his blue eyes, moist and soft beneath Leonard’s calloused digits. When Leonard pushes down, Jim obediently opens his mouth, tongue flat along the bottom, even as Leonard moves to stroke it. He can tell from the way it curls around his finger that it’s talented. Even if it weren’t, he knows this mouth will look damn pretty around his cock. Everything about Jim is _pretty_. Leonard pistons two fingers in and out of Jim’s mouth while the regenerator fixes his cheek, gentling fucking him in lieu of real _fucking._

When Jim’s face is perfectly pristine, chiseled like a doll’s, Leonard regretfully pulls his fingers out. He runs them instead along Jim’s neck, temporarily opening the collar and petting his newly exposed throat while the regenerator covers pre-existing finger marks. Clearly, he’s been choked, both with hands and cloth. With a bit of smirk, Leonard says, “You’ll be relieved to know I’m not really into breathplay.” At least that’s something. Something passes over Jim’s face that might be relief, but then, the poor kid has no idea what Leonard _is_ into. Pretty blonds, for one. 

By the time Leonard gets down to Jim’s chest, Jim still hasn’t said anything. Leonard takes far longer than necessary here, using it as an excuse to thumb and pluck at Jim’s nipples. While he heals the right side of Jim’s breastbone, Leonard tugs at the left nub until it’s pebbled hard, Jim’s breath finally hitching, and Leonard presses his palm flat over it, rolling it around. Hand steady in the healing process, Leonard glances back at Jim’s face, staring up at him. “You’re allowed to speak, you know. I don’t make my slaves wait for permission, unless told otherwise.” Though, to be fair, he hasn’t had a slave since the wife took their shared one in the divorce. He’s hardened somewhat since then. But after what Jim’s clearly been through, Leonard should seem like a walk in the park.

Jim says tightly, “Thank you, master.” And Bones lifts an eyebrow but leaves it. He moves on to Jim’s blue-and-purple left rib, tracing Jim’s arm lightly while he does so. Only once does Jim’s face scrunch together in pain—the rest of it he takes like a trooper, or maybe someone who’s developed a high tolerance to pain. A new flicker of sympathy runs through Leonard, but it’s not enough to stop him from switching hands on the regenerator so he can use his right one to pet the gold curls beneath Jim’s stomach. Jim’s breath tightens, and Leonard idly strokes his way closer to the thick shaft jutting out of them. It doesn’t have any damage, though below it, Jim’s thighs are heavily scratched, as though they’ve been whipped and clawed. Leonard moves to fix the bright hand marks on Jim’s hips and gently traces the base of Jim’s cock. 

Otherwise flaccid, it stirs under his touch, just a single, little twitch of acknowledgement. Leonard knows he’s probably grinning like a lecherous old man, but he can’t help it—Jim’s cock is as pretty as the rest of him. It’s smooth and straight, tipped in a pink mushroom head, with light tracings of veins and tight, lightly fuzzed balls. He contents himself with circling the base while he shifts his concentration back to Jim’s hips. When those are fixed, Leonard still resists his target in favour of working on Jim’s thighs, which he pushes gently apart. 

While the machine buzzes faintly over his torn, damaged skin, Jim mumbles suddenly, “What kind of master are you?” He seems hesitant to ask, but when Leonard glances at his face, he clearly means it. Leonard frowns. 

“I’m not soft, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a man that’s made my way up through the Empire.” He traces one finger over the line of Jim’s cock; Leonard knows he’s hard around the edges, not a particularly kind soul. “But I don’t beat my pets, either.” The look on Jim’s face says that he can’t comprehend anything else, so Leonard adds, half to himself, “I’m a doctor, not a sadist.” He heals things; he doesn’t break them. 

Jim licks his lips. It’s a too endearing gesture, probably subconscious. It makes his lips wetter and draws Leonard’s eyes to them, makes him want to unzip his pants right here and put those lovely things to work. Instead, Leonard pulls himself back to Jim’ legs. Both thighs take extensive healing, but when he’s done, he slips his way down the length of them, catching various other nicks and discolourations. There are deep grooves around his ankles, clearly from being restrained. 

After another few minutes of silence, Leonard asks, “What kind of pet are you?” His last one was so docile to the point of being no fun—it just followed the wife around and did chores. Jim doesn’t look like the type bred to do laundry. 

Jim says pointedly, “A good one.” Leonard lifts an eyebrow—there’s no clarification whether that means well behaved or, as Leonard’s been speculating, exemplary in bed. It’s no question he’s been fucked relentlessly; Leonard hasn’t even gotten to his ass yet, and the majority of his damage indicates as much. Leonard assumes Khan wouldn’t give him a pet currently torn on the inside without saying something, but he’ll definitely have Jim roll over before he takes Jim up to his quarters. 

As Leonard deals with the last of the frontal bruising along Jim’s ankles, he notes mostly to test the reaction, “You must not’ve been that great, or Khan wouldn’t be discarding you.” He glances up; Jim just scowls and looks away. He’s spent enough furtive, sidelong looks at Spock that he must think Leonard won’t notice, but this time he looks straight at the ceiling, stubborn and upset. Leonard finishes his work and straightens up, fully admiring his new, unblemished acquisition. Pristine as a porcelain doll, Jim’s undeniably _gorgeous_.

He’s somewhat good, no matter how Leonard teases him. He lies still under Leonard’s gaze, even though the healing’s clearly over, on this side, at least. Leonard turns off the dermal regenerator and leaves it on the table between Jim’s legs, his hands falling to Jim’s peach skin, drawing up. He traces his way back to Jim’s warm thighs, stalling and lingering before sweeping under to cup Jim’s balls and cock—Jim bites his lip. Leonard kneads them lightly in his hand, gentle but firm, still testing, and Jim holds up well. Leonard has to start tugging and rolling those tight balls deliberately around before Jim lets loose any sound: a light groan with tightly shut, guilty eyes. Leonard says quietly, “There’s no shame in pleasure.” Jim nods subserviently; Leonard smirks and moves on. 

It’s a shame to let go, but Leonard has to, just long enough to hold his hand out over Jim’s face. Jim hesitates for a moment, but he doesn’t need to be told what to do. He opens his mouth and runs his tongue flat over Leonard’s palm, first slowly, then lapping at it, drenching it in saliva, and Leonard has to resist the urge to wipe it off on Jim’s face and start again, make him glisten and shine with his own mess. Jim licks over and around every finger, ever line, before Leonard finally pulls it away. 

He comes back to Jim’s cock, now raised slightly, and he wraps his damp fingers around it. Jim makes a choked noise that Leonard wants more of. Leonard sets in to pumping Jim’s sizeable cock, jerking rhythmically up and down with a certain skill that he’s more than proud of. Jim’s clearly trying to resist, but he quickly grows hard in Leonard’s hand, quickly sets into moaning and arching up—his hips start bucking into Leonard’s grip. Leonard rewards him with a little squeeze and keeps going, stopping once or twice to swirl one finger around the tip. Jim whimpers again, hips quivering.

As nice to look at as Jim’s crotch is, Leonard finds himself drawn to Jim’s face for the rest of it. Jim’s eyes scrunch together, opening once to look over at Spock with thickly dilated pupils, then seems to catch Leonard watching him and quickly rolls his head away, cheeks blushing. His lips open wide, set in a perfect little ‘o.’ Leonard watches his adam’s apple bob, throat constricting with his breathing, mouth making sinful moan after moan. He sounds as good as he looks. Leonard licks his own lips—he got damn lucky with this one. 

A part of the strategy is to make Jim associate him with pleasure right away, partly to offset all the damage with something good, and partly to satisfy his own curiosity. He wants to see Jim’s face in the middle of an orgasm, wants to see Jim’s whole body arch and writhe. He wants to do it now, while he’s in full control of his senses, while he can observe and remember, not when he’s too horny himself to take in all the details. Leonard’s a medical man, but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate art. He pumps harder, faster, and Jim’s hips canter up to match his panting. Leonard’s other hand begins to help, petting Jim’s thighs and teasing Jim’s balls. Jim’s head tilts back. 

A minute later, Jim bursts in Leonard’s hand, crying out in ecstasy and spurting large gobs of hot cum all over Leonard’s fingers. He keeps pumping anyway, milking it out, noting the more than healthy portion he gets. Jim shivers and simmers down to little white dots at the head of his slit—Leonard pushes Jim’s hips back down and wipes all the mess away. 

He strolls absently over to where Spock’s sitting and holds out his hand; Spock submissively licks at the mess. Leonard doesn’t even watch; he’s busy seeing Jim settle back down, shuddering deliciously. When he looks over at them, his cock twitches again, probably at the sight of Spock lapping up his cum. When Spock’s done, Leonard wipes his hand off in Spock’s hair, stroking back the straight cut. Spock sits still as a statue: a very good boy.

Leonard tells Jim idly, “Turn onto your stomach.” And he knows it’s going to take a great deal of willpower to not test out Jim’s ass too.

* * *

Spock is a different animal. He’s just as beautiful, just as well built, better behaved, but he’s quiet, and there is no defiance in his face like there is in Jim’s. He glances at Jim once, maybe twice, and otherwise stares blankly up at the ceiling. His body is still, tense at first but relaxing slowly, under Leonard’s attentions. Like him, his injuries are more calculated, less emotional, but they cut deeper. Leonard can tell from the placement and imprints of each wound that Khan made these to hurt, not to punish. They weren’t made out of frustration but out of a deliberate desire to see Spock bruised, and Spock clearly stood still while he took them. 

Leonard lets the regenerator work on Spock’s right temple and soothes the other with his fingers, gently brushing straight cut bangs aside. Leonard’s fingers stray to trace the harsh arches of Spock’s eyebrows. He can tell from his tricorder results, “You aren’t pure Vulcan, are you?”

Spock says tonelessly, “No, sir.”

“Half human?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Interesting.” And it is. There aren’t any crewmembers on the Enterprise with this physiology, and he can already think of several tests he’d like to run, experiments he’d like to try. Nothing damaging, of course: purely scientific. Spock’s blood is still a deep green; it’s crusted on his lip in a particularly nasty gash. A shame, really. Leonard’s instrument sews it seamlessly back together, and Leonard’s thumb follows the healed trail; Spock has big, bow lips that look perfect for sucking cock. When he holds Spock’s mouth open, he finds Spock’s tongue to be a little longer than Jim’s, still pink. He presses it down, and it stays flat. When Spock’s lips are finished, he takes the regenerator away and orders, “Close your mouth.” Spock does so, and Leonard lightly pistons his fingers in and out, the same way he did to Jim, while Spock’s dark eyes look up at his. On one level, it’s impressive how impassive he remains. On another level, it’s mildly frustrating. Leonard likes to make his men scream, and he can tell right now that Spock isn’t a screamer. 

Leonard pulls his fingers away and figures he’ll have fun in other ways. Maybe, if he can just find the right buttons, he can tease a reaction out of Spock. Leonard does enjoy a good argument, and he imagines a Vulcan, even a slave, must be fairly intelligent. He unfastens Spock’s collar and rubs over Spock’s green-tinted throat, bruised as much as Jim’s, if not more so. Leonard heals this part too and touches down to his shoulders, smoothing over his flat chest. His nipples are a dusty brown, but Leonard doesn’t bother to play with these; Jim’s were cuter, and he got his fill there. Spock’s lean and well-toned, and Leonard’s hands aren’t confined to any one part—he touches everywhere while he works, healing cut after cut, bruise after bruise. Spock’s been whipped in several unorthodox places, dug into in others, and a scarred carving near his shoulder looks faintly like Khan’s initials. Leonard heals it all. There’s a particular cruelty in these wounds that gets to Leonard. He’s sure Spock couldn’t have deserved them—he seems docile, and Vulcans are notoriously obedient and neutral; it seems so unlikely that he would’ve earned any of this. More likely, Khan enjoyed hurting a pet that wouldn’t cry no matter what he was given. Leonard’s never had a particularly weak stomach for the ways of the Empire, but the thought of Spock’s prior treatment still leaves him feeling mildly sick. 

By the time Leonard gets to Spock’s hip, Spock’s eyes have subtly shifted sideways, clearly connecting with Jim’s, though Leonard pretends not to notice. He stares at and enjoys the trim curves of Spock’s waist, the skin the regenerator leaves behind utterly flawless. Spock doesn’t talk, and Leonard finally does. “Jim, c’mere.” He glances over his shoulder, one hand still using the instrument, and he watches Jim hesitantly rise from the chair and step closer. He’s clearly putting effort into watching Leonard and not Spock. 

“Touch him.”

“What?” Jim blinks.

“Touch him,” Leonard repeats, nodding at his patient. “You clearly want to.” He lifts an eyebrow, as though daring Jim to say otherwise, to lie to him. It’s painfully obvious, and Leonard’s no fool. 

Jim still looks nervous before extending a hand. He lands on Spock’s healed bicep, squeezing gently, reassuringly, as if to simply say that he’s _there_. Spock looks back at him, and his hand slides lower—Spock’s lifts to help—they come together, fingers entwining. That doesn’t go over Leonard’s head. Last he checked, Vulcans didn’t like to touch, especially with their hands. Clearly, this one does. He looks at Jim with more emotion, worries and fears, than he’s given Leonard all afternoon. Leonard has half a mind to bark at them to cut it out with the nervous cowering; he said he’s not a monster and he damn well meant it. 

Instead, Leonard orders, “Kiss him.” Surprised again, Jim looks at him, and Leonard scowls in clear warning: just do what he says. Jim gets the message. He squeezes Spock’s hand and leans over the table, softly pressing his lips into Spock’s. Subtly, Spock presses back. They’re chaste, light, but they linger, tilting slightly, and when Jim pulls back, a wet noise follows. He doesn’t go far. It looks like he wants to lunge back down and drape himself protectively over Spock’s body, or maybe just nuzzle into him and coo like a tribble. 

Leonard snickers without meaning to. A part of him’s already bitter to the idea of their saccharine, lovesick looks, but the rest of him recognizes the benefit; at least he won’t have to worry about the two of them getting along. Or not wanting to put on a show. Or not being _easy_ : now he knows how to instantly squash any future rebellion. He lets them know it too, directing at Jim, “Somebody’s in love.” Jim stiffens. Fear instantly flickers over his face, but Bones says, “Relax. I’m not likely to use it against you. I don’t have to.” He gives Jim a significant look, and Jim, for whatever reason, nods. 

As soon as Leonard turns back to the regenerator, he expects Jim, now discovered, to stare unabashedly at Spock for the rest of the exam. Instead, his eyes linger on Leonard while Leonard makes it down to Spock’s thighs, no less damaged than Jim’s. His hand rests near Spock’s dick as he does it, no less enticing than Jim’s. It’s very long, trim, and a little curved, with the imprints of green veins tracing up it, a small slit in the top. Spock’s balls are almost as tight as Jim’s but completely hairless and mostly green. There’s a deep bruise behind them—probably from a constant ring. There’s a smattering of thick, black tufts of hair at Spock’s base that Leonard brushes aside to check, and he’s tempted to ask if Spock has stamina problems. He doubts it; Vulcans should have more self-control. Maybe Khan just doesn’t believe Vulcans should be allowed to come at all. 

Maybe because of the damage to it, maybe because of how completely flaccid Spock is, Leonard doesn’t play with his cock just yet. Leonard admires it, yes, but he heals it quickly and moves on, regenerator slipping down the left leg first. Spock’s restraint grooves are deeper than Jim’s, more clear-cut, but numerous. Leonard’s extra careful here, and once he’s healed Spock’s left ankle, Leonard massages it while he does the right. He wants Spock to feel soothed, safe, even if Spock is just a pet and someone for Leonard to tease and toy with however he likes. Leonard finally retires the regenerator and runs his hand back up Spock’s inner leg, going over his thigh to clasp around his cock. It’s still soft, and Leonard gives it an experimental tug—he’s never had a Vulcan cock in his hand before. He isn’t disappointed.

Almost instantly, Jim’s moving. Leonard barely has time to turn and look before Jim’s on his knees, hands on Leonard’s pants and face nuzzling into his crotch—Leonard nearly yelps in surprise. He lets go of Spock to push Jim back, and Jim looks up at him, pleading, “Don’t hurt him, please.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Leonard snaps, pushing Jim further back. Not that he should have to explain himself to a slave. “I was just going to give him the same happy ending you got.”

“He’s special,” Jim insists, eyes burning. “If you just try to jerk him off and he doesn’t respond, he’s not being bad, he just...”

“I know what Vulcans are like,” Leonard growls, and Jim shuts his mouth but still looks scared, still tries to press closer to Leonard’s crotch. 

“I can please you, instead. We both can. Just...”

Leonard cuts him off again, scowling. “Just nothing. You don’t get to make orders here.” Jim opens his mouth, and Leonard barks, “Shut up, kid.” So Jim shuts his mouth, still looking worried. Leonard manages to stop himself just short of bragging about his surgeon’s hands—he could get _anyone_ off. But if it didn’t work, he’d hardly punish Spock for it. The assumption that he would is insulting. His glare lingers for a few seconds, just to make sure Jim got the message, and finally, Jim’s eyes lower. They rest instead on the bulge in Leonard’s pants, started by looking at the two beauties now in his possession and made worse by Jim nuzzling into it. A risk taker, this one. And a leader; Spock seems to let him take charge. Spock’s eyes are lingering on the back of Jim’s head, less easy to read but still clearly worried, just about Jim, instead. Together, they’re a real piece of work. 

Leonard wants to go on. He’s fixed Spock’s front, and he intends to feel Spock’s dick and witness a Vulcan orgasm before he turns Spock over and does the rest, though he supposes he could be content with just one of the two. Still, Jim at his feet _is_ a tempting sight. He doesn’t need to bargain with slaves, but he’s not completely merciless. His pants are getting tight anyway. 

A few more seconds of contemplation, and Leonard rolls his eyes, grumbling his own resignation. He hooks a finger in Jim’s collar and uses it to tug Jim closer, ignoring Jim’s mewl of satisfaction. He lets Jim do the rest of the work, unfasten his pants and pull down his fly, reaching inside. Leonard stands where he is, steady, and runs his eyes over Spock’s body while Jim’s fingers engulf him. He’s pulled deftly out of his pants, and he allows a small smirk at Jim’s sharp intake of breath. He looks down and finds Jim staring—Leonard knows he’s no small fish. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’s either as big as or bigger than Khan, augment or no. The way Jim’s eyes flicker up imply the latter, and Leonard smirks wider, lifting a challenging eyebrow. Jim put himself in this position. 

Jim licks his lips. Clearly, he’s up for the challenge. 

With a look of determination, Jim presses forward, mouth out, and he runs his tongue up the underside of Leonard’s cock, covering the entire length. At the tip, he stops, and he flays the end of his tongue against Leonard’s slit before running back down the side. He presses a kiss to the base and licks at Leonard’s balls, so much heavier than his own, bigger and lower hanging. Jim still tries to pull them into his mouth, doing it one at a time, suckling gently while he looks up through his full lashes. His blue eyes are even more enticing with his mouth full of Leonard’s balls, his lips stretched wide. He closes his eyes again and nuzzles into Leonard, inhaling deeply. Clearly, Jim knows what he’s doing. Leonard can’t help but reach for his golden hair, fisting lightly and holding him in, even though he clearly isn’t going anywhere. He releases Leonard’s balls to lap at the shaft again, and Leonard’s left to wonder why anyone would give up such a talented creature. Jim takes to Leonard’s cock like he was made for it, and he hasn’t even taken Leonard in yet. 

There’s a bit more play before he does, and Leonard doesn’t complain, doesn’t push. He’s older than Jim, and he has experience, stamina, prefers to take his time anyway. He lets Jim get used to his incredible length and noteworthy girth, lets Jim lick and suck and kiss his way into familiarity. Once, Jim glances back up, as though cheekily waiting to be told off for his teasing, but Leonard just smirks and thrusts his hips forward, sending his cock sliding up Jim’s face. Jim closes his eye in time to not get poked, and he pulls back with a near-pout, probably realizing he isn’t going to get the reaction he wants. 

Finally, Jim opens his mouth. He parts his lips very wide and over his teeth, and he holds Leonard’s cock out, ready to descend onto it. Leonard takes up all the space there is and still forces his jaw wider—Jim makes a choking noise, and Leonard knows it’s not from inexperience; he’s just _that big._ But Jim struggles to regain himself and pushes on, taking almost a third of Leonard in before he has to stop, struggling to breathe. Leonard smirks and resists the urge to buck forward. Jim’s mouth is wet, tight, smooth: everything he wants in a blowjob, except the blowing. He knows that’s coming. Jim makes a whimpering noise that does just as well, and then he sucks, _hard_. Leonard hisses in pleasure and strokes Jim’s hair back, groaning, “Good boy...”

If he didn’t know better, he’d say Jim was smirking back around his cock, but then, there isn’t really room to tell. Jim tries to force himself lower down, but he stops again a moment later, whining again and sucking, then pulling mostly off, leaving a slick trail behind him of glossy, pink skin. He goes back on a moment later and starts to piston on and off, sucking when he can, getting a little further each time. Leonard holds onto the back of his head in lieu of cupping his cheeks and fucking his pretty face relentlessly; that’s something Leonard will save for later when he knows that Jim can take it. 

Leonard’s in the middle of another languid moan when Spock stirs, finally lifting up. Leonard notices but doesn’t stop him, simply watches him slip off the table and crawl up beside Jim, his collar left back on the exam table and the rest of him just as naked. He leans in to press a kiss to the base of Leonard’s cock, the part where Jim can’t reach, and Jim just keeps bobbing. Leonard nearly threads his other hand in Spock’s hair, before he remembers that he wiped Jim’s cum off in it. Instead, he just lets Spock lick and nip at him, paying particular attention to his balls. Leonard grunts in appreciation and tries to keep the rest of his noises back; no need to put all his cards on the table and show that he’s already _very_ impressed. He’d never say it allowed, but Khan’s a fool. 

On one of Jim’s downward strokes, throat impaled on Leonard’s cock, Leonard grunts, “Kiss him.” He holds Jim on by the hair to make it clear that his order was at Spock, and Spock hesitates for a moment, eyeing Jim’s mouth. Glancing up at Leonard once and clearly seeing that he won’t get more instruction, Spock leans over and kisses the edge of Jim’s mouth before licking across his stretched lips and scattering tight, fluttering kisses all along Leonard’s cock where Jim’s lips meet it. Jim makes a muffled moan that runs right up Leonard’s spine, and Spock licks over his lips again before nuzzling into the side of his face. Jim’s eyes close, and Leonard doesn’t miss his quivering. He’s probably hard himself. Leonard shifts his boot to be sure and snickers when he finds his suspicions accurate. Feeling benevolent, he ordains, “You can hump my leg if you want to get off; you won’t be punished for coming.” Jim seems to hesitate before breaking down and moving closer. Leonard keeps his leg forward to help, and Jim humps it shamelessly while he moans around Leonard’s cock. 

Then Leonard pushes his head off, and Jim’s lips come free with a wet popping noise. Spock doesn’t have to be told; he pushes on in Jim’s absence, setting in to bob up and down just as efficiently as Jim did. His bow lips are just as pretty, just as soft, and his mouth is even hotter. His tongue laps at Leonard’s underside while it goes, and he takes Leonard further down than Jim did, though clearly, they’ll both need practice. Jim sets in to help, eagerly lapping away at the base of Leonard’s cock and Spock’s open mouth while he ruts against Leonard’s leg like a dog. 

Leonard’s always prided himself on stamina, but between the two handsome men at his feet, it’s a wonder he lasts as long as he does. He manages to outlast Jim, who comes with a shuddering cry, face pressed into Leonard’s crotch, hips jerking furiously. Leonard can feel the wet spot in his pants near his ankle but ignores it; doctors get more stains than anyone else on the ship. He still growls, “Clean that up,” and nudges Jim’s flagging cock with his boot. Whimpering in clear post-orgasm lust, Jim nods and slinks to the floor. He curls around Leonard’s foot and laps at his boot and the hem of his pants, while Spock continues to take him deeper. Close to the edge, Leonard finally gives in and lets himself fuck Spock’s face properly, impressed when Spock simply goes lax and takes it. 

A minute later, Leonard’s throwing his head back and groaning his release, hips still vigorously working into Spock’s mouth. Spock takes it and swallows, before Leonard pulls back enough for it to land on his tongue instead of down his throat, and Leonard hisses, “Don’t swallow.” Spock simply obeys, letting the masses of cum gather so much that it starts to spill down his chin. Leonard’s hefty balls aren’t just for show. 

Another minute, and Leonard’s wilting, coming down with a heady satisfaction that plasters a smile on his face. He snaps his fingers and grabs at Jim’s collar when Jim looks up. He pops out of Spock’s mouth and pushes Jim at Spock. Like reading his mind, they turn to one another, kissing languidly and sharing Leonard’s cum between them, sticky and messy. It drapes between them and bubbles up in their mouths, but they still kiss deep, open and with lots of tongue, until Jim’s face is just as ruined as Spock’s. Leonard simply stares at them, cock hanging out of his pants, and appreciates just what he’s been given. These two are a whole show in and of themselves. Even if they weren’t both excellent at giving head, they’d be worth it just to watch on each other. It takes them a good few minutes to be properly clean, as every time one licks a glob of cum off the other’s chin, the other smears it back between their lips in a too-fervent kiss. Leonard waits anyway, until it’s merely spit glistening along their faces. 

Then he pulls Jim away by the hair and ushers Spock up by the arm, ordering tightly, “On your stomach.” So Spock climbs onto the table and lies down, his thoroughly beaten back a harsh reality against the pleasant afterglow. 

Leonard tucks himself into his pants and picks the dermal regenerator back up. As soon as he’s finished here, he’ll have to send these two up to his quarters. He’s still got a few hours left on his shift, and there’s no why he’s getting anything done with this much eye candy around. 

He lets Jim wait through Spock’s exam, though Jim has to sit back in the chair again. Leonard takes his time with the rest, getting personally acquainted with Spock’s body all on his own.


	2. Part 2

Leonard’s quarters aren’t yet equipped for slaves. He has a few things, yes, leashes and handcuffs, etcetera—he’s not a total prude—but the security officers he sent Jim and Spock up with won’t know where all of that is. He imagines them lounging about in his bed, busy fingers running all over one another, while he completes his shift. It makes his work harder, in a way, because he just can’t _concentrate_ under these circumstances, but he goes no slower; if anything, he rushes with the prospect of getting back as soon as possible. He wonders if they kiss like that when they’re alone, like they did at his feet. Maybe they’re sucking each other off right now, then sitting up to share their earnings with hungry tongues and wet lips. Leonard shifts awkwardly in his chair and resists the urge to rub himself through his pants. Maybe he’ll have to install a cold-only shower down in sickbay. A proper one, not those damn sonic things that feel like they don’t do a thing. 

By the time his shift’s over, he’s probably halfway to a cure for the strange growth that’s appeared on the lone Katellan member of the crew, but the rest will have to wait until tomorrow. The officer in question isn’t a high priority on Khan’s list anyway, and thus, Leonard could take a year to fix her, so long as Khan’s favoured cronies are all in top condition. Leonard still likes to do his job, but... he’s got two brand new pets waiting. 

He doesn’t talk to anyone on his way out of sickbay; his dick hasn’t gone down as much as it should, no matter how much he tries to think of unpleasant things like the puss inside a Rigelian zit or an aged Andorian’s ass—both of which he’s had the misfortune of seeing in the past week. He gets in the turbolift alongside a pretty ensign that sneaks a glance downwards at him, and he glares her into looking away again: nothing to see here. There’s always a tent there anyway—they just don’t make underwear that can conceal as big a package as Leonard’s got. But these pets are making it worse, and it takes effort to keep his pace at a stable walk when the turbolift doors open. He’s not going to run to his quarters like some six-year-old with a new puppy. Even if these two tailless puppies do come with the sort of body a man dreams about fucking and all the skills to match. 

As soon as the doors open, he’s kicking off his boots, glancing peripherally around, but it’s empty, like he expected. He smirks to himself: the bedroom, then. He wonders which one is fucking which. For no particular reason, he thinks of Jim riding Spock’s dick, sitting up while the Vulcan thrusts into him from below. But then, the force of those powerful thrusts would be knocking the bed back into the wall, and Leonard would hear it from here. 

In fact, there’s no sound at all. When he strolls around the partition separating his bed from the rest of his quarters, he sees why. 

Jim and Spock are both on the floor, on their stomachs, hogtied so tightly that the black, leathery strips holding them together are cutting pink and green lines into their recently healed skin. Each of them has their wrists and ankles bound together above the middle of their back, tied right down to their elbows and ankles, their faces obscured by blindfolds and gags. Leonard stops where he is, breath caught in his throat; he didn’t expect... well, he probably should’ve. Proper security procedure with slaves, until Leonard could deal with them properly. Khan probably left them in chains or in cages while he worked—they certainly never made it out of his quarters. Leonard wasn’t going to do any of that. 

Even if his traitorous cock says otherwise. Just because he isn’t exceedingly cruel doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a bit of bondage. Or a lot, in this case. He shakes his head and forces himself to move forward anyway. He kneels down beside them, and it surprises him when Spock’s head turns towards him, but then he remembers that they can still hear. He probably should’ve waited in the doorway a bit longer—properly taken his fill. He puts his hand down on Spock’s back, right between his shoulder blades, maybe just to be reassuring—say he’s not alone anymore. Spock’s head returns to where it was, and Jim never moved. 

Only because he thinks Spock can take it longer, Leonard turns to Jim first, untying the blindfold right away. It slips down Jim’s face, leaving bright blue eyes to blink, his pupils readjusting to light. Next, Leonard pulls off the gag, but this he does in the front, lingering probably longer than he needs to—he brushes Jim’s lips on the way up and stares at the way Jim flexes his jaw when he’s free, tongue smacking around the lingering, evidently unpleasant taste. He glances once up at Leonard, but mostly just adjusts. He doesn’t say a word. So Leonard doesn’t either, and he runs his hands up Jim’s arms, working on the thick knots keeping Jim’s limps together. 

It takes a bit of effort to get them loose, but Leonard’s always liked to brag about his surgeon’s hands. He knows what he’s doing, and he gets it out, yanking all the black strips away and leaving Jim to sink against the floor, groaning in relief. He practically deflates, shoulders rolling back to where they should be and cheek pressing against the carpet. 

Next is Spock. He flinches in the light when the blindfold’s removed, but when the gag’s pulled away, his mouth merely goes slack. Even after the rest of the binding’s removed, Spock stays in the awkward position until Leonard tells him, “Relax.” Then he obeys, sinking down like Jim. 

The two of them lie there, and Leonard sits back on his heels. Their gazes are lost somewhere between his feet and each other, not looking up at him. Completely naked, they’re just as pretty as they were in sickbay—prettier, now that all the scars and bruises are gone. But the new strips of dark skin ruin that to some extent, and Leonard grumbles under his breath, “Damn redshits.” If he wanted his men tied up like animals, he’d do it himself. 

“Alright.” He pushes to his feet with a sigh. Enough of this. Jim looks curiously up at him, and he gestures with his hand, grunting, “C’mon, up you get.” Hesitantly, the two of them sit, don’t try to stand, just kneel before him, Spock in a submissive look that’s clearly been practiced flawlessly and Jim with a sort of thinly veiled anxiousness. Maybe Spock’s been a slave longer, Leonard muses, or maybe he’s just better at controlling himself and adapting to the situation. Leonard doesn’t know which to look at, and he asks them in general, “Have you been fed today?” They shake their heads. 

Jim opens his mouth but shuts it again. Leonard lifts an eyebrow. He turns and heads back to the living space where his Synthesizer is, waving for them to follow. He hears them scramble over and glances back—they’re both crawling on all fours, so he snaps, “What’s the matter with your legs?” When they stop abruptly, he feels a prickle of guilt—it’s not their fault. They were probably trained that way. Sometimes it’s hard to take his bedside manner down from incompetent ensign to injured patient, even when he can’t see the injuries. “Just... walk like normal, will you?” So they rise up, standing almost awkwardly—their limbs are probably still sore. 

They follow him to the table anyway, and he wrenches a drawer open to fiddle through Synthesizer chips. He throws over, “What’d you like to eat?” He won’t ask every time, but... he can give them a break on their first meal. When they don’t answer right away, he looks back to find Jim frowning. 

“We were usually served dog food in bowls on the ground, master.” He says it warily but still so _easily_ , and it makes Leonard’s chest tighten. And his cock twitch. It’s a horrible thought but... seeing Jim’s beautiful body bent over a dog bowl, lapping up food at Leonard’s feet... he shakes his head to clear the idea. Spock doesn’t say anything else, so Leonard decides for himself. 

“Pancakes.” Because fuck it. They’ll have a proper meal another time when his head’s gotten used to this enough not to spin out of control every time he gets a look at their bodies. He’ll have to fetch them clothes at some point; they’re hazardous this way.

The food doesn’t take long at all to appear, and when it does, he slides the plates to the table and nods towards it. He takes syrup after—the good, old-fashioned maple kind, not the crazy Andorian stuff on the market today. He’s got four chairs simply because that’s what the room came with, that and a little blue table he’s recently had cut down to a square—the circle was taking up too much room. Jim sits across from him, Spock between them, looking almost uncomfortable on the hard, steel chairs. They’re probably cold, especially with bare asses. Leonard suppresses his snicker and forgoes offering them underwear. He can’t be an angel on every issue. 

He takes a fork and knife for himself, but he doesn’t offer cutlery to them. They’re still slaves, and if he is going to give them freedom, it’ll need to be introduced slowly. They need to respect his lines and know that he’s still tough—it wouldn’t be completely unheard of for underlings to assassinate their overlords, especially ones sent by such a cunning captain. He tells them both, “So long as you’re good boys, you can eat normal food.” Which is a sick thing to say, but in the Empire, it’s a courtesy; slaves, like so many other groups, aren’t considered ‘people.’

Jim nods, Spock is still. They wait for him to eat first, and he does, slicing into his pancake with a hunger that food probably won’t satisfy. He shoves the fluffy carving into his mouth anyway, and only then does Jim douse his stack of pancakes in syrup, then picking one up to eat. Spock stares at his before picking one up plainly. Vulcans don’t eat with their hands—Leonard knows this. Or at least, free Vulcans don’t. While Leonard eats away at his own plate, he can’t help but stare at the food that disappears into Spock’s mouth, pink lips closing over it and nibbling away. Vulcans are vegetarian; Leonard has the sudden urge to wrench open Spock’s mouth and feel around it again, or maybe just stuff things into it. Halfway through his first pancake, Spock glances over. 

Leonard smirks and drawls, “Look at you, eating with your hands. What a naughty Vulcan you are.” Spock’s cheeks stain a faint green, but he averts his eyes and continues eating, as though determined to take and ignore whatever embarrassment Leonard dishes out. Leonard switches his fork to his other hand and slips his arm under the table, touching Spock’s thigh. Spock barely reacts. Leonard can’t help himself. He didn’t pay enough attention to Spock’s differences in the inspection—the exotic tilt of his eyebrows, the foreign points of his ears, all the little flecks of green. Up close, they get to Leonard in a way that doesn’t make any sense. To see the cultural differences too really makes Leonard harden against his pants. He doesn’t touch himself, because his free hand is busy petting Spock’s thigh. He can feel Jim’s eyes on him, and that makes it even hotter. Voice taking on a husky tone, Leonard half-purrs, “Maybe I should have Jim feed you. Would that be better?”

Spock finally looks at him, eyes hard but useless. He finishes the last of his pancake and announces, “Whatever you wish, sir.” Leonard’s smirking too wide. He was trying to be good, but... their beauty’s turning him into a lecherous old man. 

He nods down and says, “Lick your fingers clean.” So Spock obeys, slowly lifting his hands and lapping over them, tongue steady and strong. Leonard remembers having it wrapped around his cock, but in some ways, this is almost just as thrilling. It’s _forbidden_ , to Spock, anyway. Leonard doesn’t usually torment people over their cultural backgrounds but... it can’t hurt if it’s just the little things, and Spock’s his to torment. 

Leonard makes it go on way too long, only stopping when his stomach bothers him too much. Then he leans back in his chair and removes his hand from Spock’s leg, using it instead to cut up another pancake. He mutters, “You can stop now,” and he lets them eat the rest in peace. Jim’s looking at him hotly, and he counteracts that by sliding his feet forward under the table, knocking into Jim’s. Jim flushes but is quiet, and Leonard gives him an _‘I haven’t forgotten you’_ sort of look. 

It takes an inordinate amount of willpower to not overturn the syrup bottle on them and make them lick each other off. He’ll be surprised if he ever gets any work done again.

* * *

After dinner, he tells them to shower. They look at one another and seem to wait for him, but he shoos them off; he’s not as dirty as they are and he’s got things to do. They disappear into the bathroom. 

Rubbing his eyes, Leonard wanders back into the bedroom and changes into a black tee, smoothing it out and determinedly ignoring his cock. He’ll jerk off later. Right now, he intends to get some work done while he’s got some peace. 

Stretching out on the bed, Leonard pulls a PADD from his drawer and starts the data transfer from sickbay. He can’t run physical experiments from here, but he can still analyze the results, and he has a dozen more equations to enter, which can then be used to compare and contrast with the listed afflictions in the databanks. One the one hand, frontier medicine comes with its fair share of medical marvels. On the other, it comes with about a dozen times more inexplicably diseases and conditions and all-around trouble. Space. Sometimes he thinks he should’ve stayed on the ground. 

But then, he wouldn’t have earned slaves in an Earth hospital. Maybe this is best. 

He’s halfway to what he thinks might be a discovery, assuming, of course, that the crewmember in question’s been exposed to any Grazerite cheese in the last month, when Jim and Spock emerge from the bathroom. They’re toweled off but still glistening with beads of missed water, hair ruffled and skin pristine. They come to sit by the side of the bed, and Leonard blinks down at them—he’d _finally_ gotten rid of that damn boner too.

Leonard glances at the clock over their heads. Plenty of time to play later. And he’s finally making progress. He’s too old to just fuck them all night, and as much as he wants to throw them both down and ravish them, he also wants to savour his treat. It takes considerable effort to say, “I don’t need you right now; you can go play.” Or whatever it is slaves do. They stare at him in shock, Spock’s lips in a thin frown and Jim blinking rapidly. 

When they don’t move, Leonard snaps with more annoyance, “Well? Go! There’s a whole other section to these quarters you won’t be distracting me from.” So they listen, turning to crawl. He calls after them, “Unless you want to go through another medical examination, use your legs!” He knows that physical damage isn’t why they crawl, but when he’s interrupted during work, it’s hard not to slip into gruffness. The two of them stretch out and walk away. 

As Jim turns the corner, Leonard catches the hint of a smile on his lips. Leonard’s willing to bet they’re not used to freedom, and they’ll enjoy even a little shred.

He calls after them mostly to maintain his authority, “And keep it down out there!” Even though he knows they’ll be quiet.

He turns back to his PADD and rereads the last paragraph.

* * *

He finishes when he finally finds a match that looks conceivable. He reroutes the information to sickbay and leaves it for tomorrow, climbing off the bed and stretching out. It takes him a second to remember the two men in the other room, which is fairly remarkable, given how long it took him to forget about them. 

Leonard’s not exactly sure what he expects when he rounds the corner into the living area, but he doesn’t expect what he finds. Jim’s lounging on the couch and Spock’s pulled up a chair, and the table between them sports a 3D chessboard he’d forgotten he even had. Spock’s in the middle of making his move, but he retracts his hand and looks over his shoulder at Leonard’s entrance. 

Leonard walks up to them, stopping in front of the table. They’ve both completely dried off and sit, naked and still, where they are, muscles tense and eyes guarded. Spock’s hands fall over his lap, hiding his cock from view, but Jim’s is soft and pink against his thigh, bare ass nestled amongst the cushions. A part of Leonard is impressed with their ability—most slaves never learn the most basic games, let alone those with additional, three dimensional layers. The rest of him knows not to take this lightly, and he asks, knowing the answer, “Did Captain Khan allow you to sit on the furniture?”

Jim says, “No, sir.” His voice is a little too strong, and Leonard’s eyebrow lifts. He’s being tested. He knows that, and he doesn’t appreciate it, no matter how interesting it makes his new pets for trying. These two will likely be worth more than the usual basic duties—he could use a pair of pretty yeomen. 

Obedient yeomen, that is. He’s fine with doling out freedom and having intelligent pets, but he doesn’t need his possessions testing the limits of his patience. He asks, “Did Captain Khan allow you to use his other possessions?” He strategically says ‘other’ so there’s no mistake as to what they are. They’ll be people when they aren’t trying his nerves.

Spock says, “No, master.” His voice is just as strategically toneless. When Leonard looks at him, he averts his eyes. Leonard can’t tell if it’s out of submission or fire. 

Jim’s eyes hold a rebellious glint. Clearly, he wants to know what kind of master he really has. Because it’s proven best to temper Jim by controlling Spock, Leonard focuses a cold glare on his pet Vulcan. 

Spock doesn’t look back, but he sees it. He climbs gingerly out of the chair and sits at Leonard’s feet, murmuring, “I apologize, sir.” He still doesn’t look up. Leonard fights the urge to stroke his sleek hair and finger the curve of his ears.

Leonard looks at Jim instead. Jim’s staring at him. When Leonard does reach for Spock’s hair, ready to rip Spock’s head back and expose his lovely face and arch his pale neck, Jim bites his lip. A second later he says tightly, “It was my fault, master. Not Spock’s.”

Leonard’s not sure if he believes that. It doesn’t matter. He allows a small smirk and drawls, “That’s a shame, because I rather like your boyfriend’s ass. I would’ve enjoyed spanking it.” He releases his grip on Spock’s hair. 

Instead, he marches over to the couch, while Jim straightens up and dons nervousness a fraction too late. He opens his mouth again, but Leonard’s already got his fist in Jim’s hair. 

He uses it to pick Jim up, and he sits where Jim used to be, grabbing an arm and tossing Jim back over his lap all too fast for any reaction. Jim stumbles messily across him, facedown, one leg on the couch and the other hanging off, ass perfectly in Leonard’s lap. Jim tries to scramble to all fours, but Leonard’s not having it—he pushes Jim down and barks, “Stay.” Jim collapses instantly, instinct kicking in, and Leonard chuckles, stroking the curve of his spine, “Good boy.” Even though Jim’s clearly a very, very naughty thing. His limp cock is pressed into Leonard’s leg, and he keeps his blond head hung. 

Leonard decides arbitrarily, “Let’s see... ten strokes for testing me, ten for lying to cover Spock’s ass, and ten for trying to keep that ass from me.” He doesn’t mention actually sitting on the furniture or playing chess—those are things that he thinks he’ll let them do, provided, of course, they’re well behaved. But he’ll tell them that later and just hint for now; he can’t have them taking advantage, like they’re clearly trying to do. As Jim doesn’t answer, Leonard asks, “Sound good?” And he bumps his leg up against Jim—Jim grunts. 

He looks over his shoulder, a little confused, not in the least bit mad—thirty strokes for a slave with the kind of bruises Jim had is nothing. It’s just for show, just like all this was. Leonard makes it clear on his face that he wants an answer; Jim mumbles, “Yes, master.” Then, oddly, “Thank you, master.”

Leonard’s smirk grows in spite of himself, and he answers curtly, “You’re welcome, Jim.” Jim’s cheeks stain pink, and he looks back around, burying himself in the couch. Across from them, Spock’s watching warily. Leonard runs his hand up one of Jim’s round ass cheeks, squeezing and digging in, just to see the sudden hunger flicker across Spock’s eyes. Leonard understands. If there’s such a thing as a perfect ass, Jim’s got it, and Leonard spends too much time playing with it before he finally starts. 

He lifts his hand and brings it crashing down, dragging right across both cheeks. Jim’s shoulders stiffen, but that’s all—he’s probably used to spankings with colder hands, harder paddles, maybe riding crops or even a whip. The though makes Leonard’s cock twitch against Jim’s stomach, and he brings his hand down again. The third smack is just as hard, but Jim takes it the same, just like the fourth, the fifth. On the six one, Leonard’s hand lingers to knead the soft, blushing, warming flesh beneath his hand, and Jim wriggles slightly, readjusting his position. Leonard hits him again. Again. On the tenth time, he drawls around the moan in his throat, “Spock, get over here.” So Spock crawls forward, placing his hands up on the couch like a dog jumping on its master. Leonard gives no more instructions, and he continues to spank Jim’s pert ass while Spock nuzzles into Jim’s side, leaning reassuringly against him. Jim croons at the touch and lifts his ass more—Leonard’s smirk grows. Even if this is supposed to be a punishment, he _wants_ a dirty slave. He wants a man that’ll love his cock, and Spock does that to Jim, turns the pain into something he wants, needs. Jim lifts his hips back into Leonard’s hand, and Leonard scatters his cheeks with stinging hits, over and over until his ass is red and his thighs are trembling, his cock twitching against Leonard’s thigh. Leonard has half a mind to make Spock suck it while he spanks Jim endlessly, but then, he didn’t heal this pretty thing just to ruin it all over again. 

He stops at thirty, breathing almost as heavily as Jim. Jim took it well. He didn’t cry, didn’t scream, and that’s sort of a shame, but it also makes him prettier to watch: all his tight control shuddering under the force of Leonard’s hands. He glances over his shoulder once, blue eyes sparking. 

Leonard can’t help it. He sucks in a breath. Damn, that face is irresistible. The ass in his hands is irresistible—he’s still touching it—rubbing it and playing with it and tracing its supple curves. Jim subtly lifts his ass into Leonard’s fingers, and Leonard snaps. He shoves Jim further down the couch, slinking down himself, forcing Spock to jerk away in surprise. Leonard barely spares a glance for either of their expressions; he can’t take his eyes off the sweet ass in front of him, and he wrenches the cheeks apart. 

Then he buries his face in it, tongue stabbing out to trace Jim’s crack, clean and even still a little moist from the shower. Leonard’s not the type to go pleasuring other men, but... an ass like this can’t be helped. His tongue finds Jim’s tiny, puckered hole, and he jabs at it, drinking in Jim’s gasp. He laps at it over and over, swallowing the bitter taste and indulging in the warm flesh against his cheeks, soft and inviting. No wonder Jim’s a slave. One look at this ass and he couldn’t be for anything else; it wouldn’t be fair to the world if it wasn’t constantly used and toyed with and made to please better men. Leonard curls his tongue and pushes at the tight ring of muscles; he wants to fuck Jim with his tongue, his fingers, his cock, anything he can fit inside. He stops just long enough to nip at one cheek and hiss against Jim’s skin, “Spock, finger yourself.” Might as well save time now—he’s not going to leave his Vulcan out. He watches over the globes of Jim’s ass while Spock lies down on his back, spreading his legs and running his hands down his body. He’s clearly well trained; he’s doing it like a proper show, doing everything he can to make his body enticing. Jim groans so loudly it almost makes Leonard jump, and his hips subtly ground into the couch. 

With another firm bite that earns a yelp, Leonard draws his finger into the mix. The musky smell is all over his nostrils, and he doesn’t pull far away when he uses his finger to coax at Jim’s hole. He stares at it while it twitches, constricting under his ministrations, tightening before flexing loose as he rubs little circles around it. He spits on it and uses the makeshift lube to force his finger inside—Jim arches up and cries out. Even as his finger sinks into the tight heat of Jim’s ass, Leonard laps at the edges—he’s going to drive Jim _wild_.

That doesn’t prove difficult. By the time Leonard’s finger is to the knuckle, wet enough or not, Jim’s pressing back onto it. Leonard holds still and just lets Jim do the work, bobbing back and impaling himself on it, never quite enough. Leonard doesn’t move it around or tap the spots he knows will make Jim scream; he’s saving that for later. For now, he spits again and adds a second finger, drinking in Jim’s whines while Spock’s gasp punctuates the air just as sharply, three of his own fingers now buried inside his stretched ass. Leonard doesn’t know where to look. They’re both so gorgeous. He gives Jim a final nip, pulling back and wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, while Jim keeps going. 

It takes a minute to make his voice steady enough to demand, “Spock—”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Jim moans against the couch.

Leonard slaps his ass again and snarls, “Shut up.” Jim groans and nods, and he lifts his ass up again and wriggles it on Leonard’s finger like he’s desperate for more. He’s going to get it. 

But Leonard pulls his finger out first, wiping it on Jim’s cheek as he goes, and he sits back enough to push Jim’s legs up—Jim takes the hint and gets on all fours on the couch, looking curiously back. Leonard reaches for Spock and gestures him up—Spock follows and climbs between them, and Leonard turns him to face Jim. The utter delight that flicks over Jim’s face is unmistakable, and Leonard feels the need to growl, “Just because I’m letting you have his cock doesn’t mean you should crave mine any less.”

Jim nods and insists too quickly, “Yes, master, thank you, master,” while he flexes his ass and arches for Spock, biting his lip and looking damn too invitingly. Spock looks backwards to check, but Leonard nods. 

“Fuck him.”

Spock doesn’t have to be told twice. He’s on Jim in an instant, bending forward and pressing a kiss to the back of Jim’s head, hands sliding down Jim’s body, gripping his hips and grinding them together. Jim groans and thrusts back, and Spock starts to suck on his fingers, his other hand going to his cock—if Leonard’s Vulcan anatomy knowledge is correct, this shouldn’t hurt for either of them. Spock’s ass will be wet enough, and his cock will spill enough precum. Leonard hurriedly pulls himself out of his pants and spits in his palm anyway—he’s more than hard enough. The sight of Spock bent over Jim helps, and Leonard grabs Spock’s firm cheeks, pulling them open to look. He got his fill of both their bodies in the examinations, but it’ll never be enough. He hears Jim keen sharply and knows that Spock’s pushing inside; he can see it in the dimples of Spock’s taut ass, flexing as they push forwards. Jim groans so eagerly. He was built for this. 

Spock’s not far off. Leonard lathers his cock up with as much spit as he can manage and presses it against Spock’s entrance, already open and glistening from Spock’s fingers, spit, and the natural Vulcan coating. The edges of it are slightly tinted green—more of that exotic flare. He rubs at them as he pushes the head of his cock inside, Spock’s shoulders tensing and breath hitching as he takes it. He doesn’t move in Jim. He’s still, good, leans up and presses his back into Leonard’s chest—Leonard groans and wraps an arm around him. He’s pretty, so pretty, feels _tight_ as hell and scorching hot, moist with sweat and spit and natural juices. His velvety insides seem to claw at Leonard, sucking him in. Leonard goes slow, or as slow as he can, taking it all in. He remembers suddenly that Spock was the only one who didn’t come earlier: Spock’s overdue for an orgasm. Leonard kisses his shoulder and slides carefully in, determined to find that right angle to make his Vulcan writhe. 

When he’s buried to the hilt, he adjusts, breathing hard and sucking it in. It feels _delicious._ Damn. How could Khan give this up? He rocks once, and Spock makes a strangled noise, something between pain and pleasure, while Leonard switches angles, shifting and pushing and pulling lightly, until Spock arches and gasps, throwing his head back onto Leonard’s shoulder. Leonard nips at his ear for a reward and slams into that spot again, earning a sharp moan. Jim’s groan isn’t far behind. Leonard does it again, harder, and again, and Spock falls back, holding the back of the couch and supporting himself halfway between them, his cock repeatedly shoved into Jim’s ass by the force of Leonard’s hips, and Leonard doesn’t let up. He drives them together, setting into a relentless rhythm, fucking Spock _hard_ and Jim by extension. Slapping sounds fill the air, mingled with heavy breathing and gasps and moans and the stench of men and _sex._

Spock tries to reach around, probably for Jim’s cock, but Leonard grabs his arms, holding his wrists tight in midair, keeping him in place. Leonard’s mouth descends on the back of Spock’s neck, his mouth, dirtied from Jim’s ass, marking Spock’s flawless skin just as thoroughly. “He’s had his fun,” Leonard snarls, and Spock nods; he must know; shouldn’t Vulcans keep score? Jim whines, and Leonard ignores him, transferring a particularly hard thrust through Spock’s body. Spock’s shivering, clearly wracked with pleasure, lost between two gorgeous men, each feeding him pleasure. He deserves it, if for nothing else, for looking so damn delectable. His ass is a furnace, sucking Leonard deeper. He barely even moves himself, just gets tossed back and forth between Leonard’s powerful hips and Jim’s greedy thrusts. Leonard bites his ear again and purrs, “How does he feel, pet?”

Forgetting the title, Spock groans, “Good.” Leonard adds another merciless slam, prompting more, and Spock gasps, “So _good._ ” 

“You love it, don’t you?” Leonard hisses, and he lets go of Spock’s wrists to reach around him, grab Jim’s trim waist and hold it in. Jim moans and leans into the touch, clearly pushing back to take _more._

“Yes.” 

Leonard fucks him harder, earns a gasp, snarls, “Tell me what you love, Vulcan.”

“Your cock,” Spock gasps, to Leonard’s surprise, but he takes it, it fuels him; he pounds into Spock’s perfect body without mercy, somehow feeling Jim’s boneless reaction below. Leonard wants more, waits for it, and Spock, anticipating his master’s needs, adds, “Ah... Jim... Jim’s body...” And just _Jim_ , Leonard knows, and he’s surprised with how fiercely he wants more than that; he wants Spock to feel just as eager for him. In time, he’ll get there, he thinks, he’ll earn his way up or he’ll fuck it out of Spock; either way, he leaves Spock trembling and pressing back for more.

Leonard strokes Jim’s sides and pushes, “What about you, kid? Having a good time?” Jim just wails, bending back. He’s probably going to come first again, and it makes Leonard snicker, makes Leonard glow—he fucks Spock like an animal and makes sure Jim can feel it. He’s going to be begging for a taste of Leonard’s monster cock when this is done—he’ll be jealous Spock got it directly, and he’ll come sit at Leonard’s feet and spread his legs, push his ass in the air and beg to be fucked. The thought drives Leonard mad, but it doesn’t have to: he can _make_ Jim do all those things and more. These men are _his_.

A roar’s on the tip of Leonard’s tongue when Spock cries out, head tossing back and body tensing, stiffening suddenly, and his ass starts to spasm blissfully around Leonard’s cock. Leonard practically sees stars. He knows Spock’s coming. Jim screams as he’s filled, and Leonard pushes forward, letting Spock’s ass milk out his own orgasm. He rushes into Spock’s ass and still grinds into it, pushing every last bit out, wanting Spock bursting with his cum. Spock takes it perfectly, sucking it out and riding him. Leonard bites into his shoulder, stifling that roar.

By the time his balls are empty, his head’s shot, foggy and heavy, and he pulls out of Spock, slumping back in the couch and panting hard. Damn. That was _good_. Khan’s an idiot. 

Spock stays inside Jim for a few minutes, then, shuddering, pulls out, and Jim whimpers loudly but slumps down where he is. Leonard watches the two of them recover and the way they slowly turn back to look at him, pupils blown wide and cheeks dark. When Jim rolls over, his stomach is slick with his release. Leonard will leave them to clean it up. 

He takes a few minutes just for himself. He makes them wait, collecting himself. Then, finally, he tucks himself into his pants, aware he’s a mess and not bothered—they’re worse. His head thunks back against the armrest. The wife—even with the old slave—was never that good. 

Finally, he forces himself to get up. He’s tired, but he’s got a bed to sleep in. He’ll give them furniture instructions tomorrow. For now, he schools himself into looking stern, and he tells them gruffly, “I’m going to bed. You two talk amongst yourselves and come join me when you’ve decided whether you’re going to be brats or proper slaves—I’m a man of my word and I don’t need to be tested.”

They stare at him in surprise. He doesn’t give them a chance to ask questions—he turns and heads for the bathroom, heartbeat still racing from the fun.

* * *

Leonard prefers to read the classics—mid-nineteenth century books that come in chunk downloads, easy things to throw on his PADD. The lights are off and it’s just the bluish glow of the screen when his slaves wander in through the door. They’ve been gone for about an hour, with a low buzz in the other room that he assumed to be talking. He didn’t eavesdrop. He’s better than that. He bookmarks his spot and puts his PADD on the nightstand, sighing, “Computer, lights, fifteen percent.”

The two of them come over, circling the bed to sit cautiously on the other side, Jim shuffling up close. He says softly, “I’m sorry we tested you.” Leonard nods, but Jim continues, “Khan was handsome too, but he could hardly be trusted.” Leonard cocks an eyebrow, though he knows it’s true. He doesn’t miss the implication that they find him attractive.

He says levelly, “I’m a doctor. I heal people; I don’t hurt them.” With a quirk of his lips, he corrects, “Well, not much.” Jim nods. He must know; you don’t survive in the Empire without understanding the nature of the beast. 

He says, “We’ll try to be good pets for you, sir.”

Leonard looks at Spock, and he inclines his head, clearly offering as much too. Leonard was hoping for that answer. 

He tries to contain his grin as he drawls, “Good, because I could use a good assistant, and my office could certainly do with a bit of eye candy.”

Instantly, Jim’s eyes flare, and at first, Spock doesn’t manage to control his expression any better. “You mean in sickbay?” Leonard nods. Jim bites his bottom lip, trying and failing to suppress a grin. “We’d be happy to help you.”

“You too?” Leonard asks over him. 

Spock says, “I would appreciate the opportunity to be intellectually stimulated.”

Leonard says, “Alright.” Done. Jim’s grin is nearly splitting his face—Leonard’s never seen two people more eager to be, essentially, yeomen without pay. But then, he supposes if he were smart enough to play chess but stuck with nothing to do all day, he’d get a little stir crazy too. He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, and Jim climbs back off the bed, Spock following. 

They walk around to the back of the bed, lowering to the floor as Leonard asks, “Where’re you going?”

“To sleep,” Jim answers, pausing. 

When Leonard doesn’t look impressed, Spock fills in, “As slaves, we are permitted only to sleep on the floor.”

“Doesn’t sound too comfortable,” Leonard snorts. He pats the space beside him on the bed. It’s hardly enough for two extra people, but it would comfortably fit one, and they could manage if they squished. Somehow, he doesn’t think they’ll mind sleeping tightly together. “So long as you give me plenty of space and behave well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t sleep with me.” Then, mostly to preserve his reputation, he adds, “I don’t need the host of back problems the floor’ll give you and I’ll have to deal with.”

Jim’s a whole new person from this morning. Spock’s coming around. Jim looks delighted as he comes back to the spare side of the bed, slipping under the sheets. Spock comes in flush beside him, leaving Jim in the middle; it’s his turn. Leonard orders, “Computer, lights, five percent,” because he still wants to be able to see _something._

Once he’s settled back down into bed, head in the pillows, something drapes over his arm, and he can feel Jim kissing his shoulder. Leonard automatically swats him away, saying fondly, “None of that, now. ...Maybe if I’m awake in another half an hour or so, we’ll see.” He needs some time to come down, some time to digest. It’s been a damn good day. 

Spock’s voice asks through the darkness, “What should we do in the meantime, master?”

Apparently, sleep isn’t an option. He tells them off handedly, “You can fool around.” And he watches the way Jim instantly rolls over on top of Spock. He can’t see much more than their faint outlines, but it’s enough to be hot. A set of fingers brush his beneath the blankets—he’s not sure whose. 

“You will join us later?” Spock asks, and it sounds like he actually wants Leonard to. 

Leonard grunts in half-laughter, “Sure.” Jim’s already setting in; he can hear their hips shifting under the sheets and Spock’s stifled moan. He’s tempted to turn the lights back on and watch them make love properly. 

But instead, he lets them be. It’ll take time to break his way in, and he’s tired, and they’ve been good enough to earn some magic. He reaches out anyway and finds Jim’s hand, keeping it in his and letting Spock’s fingers find and wrap around them. It’s been a good night. 

They can say what they want about Khan, but he’s the best damn gift giver in the universe. Tomorrow’s Leonard’s fist day off in a week, and he’s guessing it’s all uphill from here.


End file.
